Sugar Daddy
by sodacreamorange
Summary: Christine is struggling to find a new job and purpose for herself. It isn't until she meets a generous mystery man that her life is finally turned around, for better or worse. Kinktober fic.
1. 1

_Alright, Christine._

The boy at the front desk was leading her down a long hall with cruel fluorescent lighting to the back office.

_You're going to nail this interview. You look presentable, your teeth have been whitened—_

He stopped and turned before a door.

_You're going to get this job and then you'll finally be earning enough to make do._

His hand twisted the doorknob.

_You'll no longer be spit on by customers and coworkers. For once your hard work will be appreciated._

He pushed the door open and leaned in. "Mr. Dickens? This girl's here for her interview."

Christine frowned. She had a name and she had told him too.

She couldn't hear any voice from the room. The boy widened the door and turned to her, gesturing for her to go in.

She remembered talking to Mr. Dickens on the phone. He was obviously an older man, his tone rather revealing about his arrogant nature. When she stepped into the doorway, she felt a strange bought of panic surge through her.

Mr. Dickens was a hefty, balding man in his mid-sixties. Some men of his age might've read as a grandfather type—the ones with friendly smiles that brought warmth to those around them. Mr. Dickens, however, had a smile lacking of any good intent. On the surface, he might've appeared friendly, but there was something about him that chilled Christine to the bone.

She kept her smile, stepping forward to shake his hand as he stood to greet her.

"Christine," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Christine."

She didn't like the sound of her name across his tongue, but she ignored her inner call to run, run and never come back.

The door behind her shut in a startling slam, and for a moment her smile faltered.

His hand lingered at hers for almost a moment too long before he let go and gestured her to sit. Christine did so accordingly, resisting her desire to cringe as the springs in the beige-colored sofa creaked.

"So, Christine," he paused to sigh and fold his hands in his lap, his smile dropping to a look of professional inquisition, "why do you want to work front desk?"

Christine smiled enthusiastically. This was a question she had prepared herself for. "Well," she began, "I love working with people. Nothing makes me happier than to please others and make their day."

Again, that discomforting smile returned to his face. He shifted in his seat, acting like he was looking at something important, but Christine could see it was some receipt for the greasy bag of Wendy's sitting on the far side of his desk. "Didn't you happen to say something about having other experience in the workforce?"

She smiled. He remembered their phone call. "Yes."

"Tell me about that." He folded his hands back, returning to his relaxed position.

Christine had trouble keeping eye contact. "I've worked as a waitress for the past ten years."

Mr. Dickens nodded. "So you think working the front desk will be an easy transition for you?"

Christine regretted the fact she shrugged in response. She was supposed to remain confident in her answers—yes or no, then elaborate if need be. "I think I'm perfect for the job because I know how to handle customers well."

_You think, Christine?! You know! _She hated what she was saying. It seemed with each job interview her confidence dropped another level. Was she truly worthy of this job?

Mr. Dickens frowned slightly.

"I-I just know what the customers want. I'm empathetic, I love to please customers and ease their frustrations."

She wanted to cry. Run, cry, hide—get away. She wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

Mr. Dickens sighed loudly and carelessly tossed his receipt to the side, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "Well, Christine," he paused to clear his throat, "there are a lot of other people who want this job. Why should I hire you?"

Christine had already prepared herself for this question too, but it didn't help her from feeling the heat creep up her neck. "You should hire me because I'm reliable and hard-working. I love people and I'll do anything to please them." She felt like she was repeating herself, turning in circles with no end.

There was a pregnant pause as he pursed his lips, the gears grinding in his head. It wasn't until now that Christine finally realized she had lost her smile, but she didn't care to try and work it back. The interview was over. She was not getting this job.

"I'll keep you in mind, Christine. You may go."

A wave of relief greeted her when she left the room, and she found she could breathe much more easily in her car. This had been her seventh job interview in the past two months and not even the most desperate of places seemed to want her. No callbacks, no hope. She was upset after the first few interviews. She thought she had nailed it, she thought they'd see potential in her, but the silence of her phone suggested otherwise.

Christine waited until she was home and in her sweatpants to call her friend Meg. It was either she confided in her or that cheap bottle of wine she had purchased the weekend before, but Meg always knew how to cheer her up better than a next-morning migraine.

"Christine! How'd it go?"

She smiled. There was almost a sense of confidence in her friend's voice. Meg believed in her at least. Christine sighed as she slouched down on the sofa. "I'm not getting the job."

Meg whined into her ear, more upset about how the interview went than Christine was herself. "What are you gonna do now, Chris?"

"Give up," she replied, laughing half-heartedly.

She could hear Meg's eye-roll. "Oh, c'mon! There's gotta be a job out there for you!"

"Yeah, one at the ol' rib shack, serving needy customers food that will likely give them cardiac arrest within the next few months."

Meg snorted. "Somewhere else!"

Christine curled into the worn blanket she always kept strewn over the back of the couch. "I'm tired of searching, Meg. I think I need to take a break and recuperate for a while."

"I'm sure you do, Chris. What has this been? Your fifth job interview in the past three months?"

"Seventh. Two months."

Meg sighed as if she was exhausted for her. "I guess it's about time for you to start looking for a sugar daddy."

Christine broke into laughter. "As if I'd ever stoop so low!"

"Hey, you know what they say: when in doubt, sugar daddy out."

"_Who _says that?"

"I don't know, I just made it up."

"You're incomparable."

"I know."

The receiver fell to silence. "I miss Daddy."

There was a shaky intake of air on the other end. "I know you do, Chris."

She swallowed back the tears for a moment, focusing her attention on a loose thread in her blanket. "Some days are harder than others. I don't understand how some people do it."

"You just have to power through."

It was the same thing Meg had told her every day she had struggled since her father passed. She knew what she meant, but she wasn't sure she knew how. How could she carry on when the one person who had been there for her her entire life was gone?

"Don't you remember what you did when your mother passed?"

Christine shook her head. "I was too young to understand. I cried I guess."

"Then cry."

She exhaled and allowed the tears to fall.

"It's okay to cry, Chris. You need to."

"I know."

"I love you. Don't forget that."

She felt a solemn smile creep across her face. "I love you too."

* * *

Christine had been asleep on the couch for several hours after ending her call with Meg. She hated it when she fell asleep after sobbing. The drowsiness she experienced when she woke kept her from wanting to be productive, and her lack of productiveness sent her back into the depressing pit she was trying so desperately to climb out of.

She reached for the laptop on the coffee table in front of her, lazily positioning herself to sit up as she lifted the screen. The only two tabs she had open were _Indeed_ and _How to Snag a Job: Tips on Interviewing for the Position of Front Desk Agent_. She closed them promptly, opening a new tab.

Finding a job was exhausting, especially for someone of her age. The scars from her current job had already taken a toll on her, and despite how hard she tried it never seemed she could get those dark circles beneath her eyes to disappear. She wasn't sure how she had remained so positive after all the mistreatment. She just wanted to get out.

_S-U_

She wasn't sure if she cared what happened to her now. Never in all her life had she felt so alone, so hopeless. She wanted a new life, she wanted to live somewhere else, she wanted everything to just stop being the way it was. She needed something new.

_G-A-R_

Meg made it into Julliard and landed her dream job in the New York City Ballet. Their phone calls were the closest she ever seemed to get to her, if her friend even had the time to talk. Making new friends didn't seem like an option considering no one even wanted to make eye contact with her at work. Going out to a club alone just to meet some new people seemed dangerous in itself.

_D-A_

Raoul was somewhere overseas, probably married or engaged to a woman who was actually capable of handling a long-distance relationship. Some days she missed what they had. She missed their late-night talks, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing he ever wanted and held her as if letting go meant losing her forever. Sometimes she wished he had held her tighter.

_D-D-Y_

And Dad was gone. Well, not entirely gone. He still lived in the photographs framed on their walls, in the hospital bills that arrived at her door. But the life he provided was gone. The life, the love, laughter and comfort. It was funny now that she actually broke it down: the only people she ever loved were either dead or far away and there was nothing she could do about it.

_Seeking Men and Women_

Christine clicked on the link and redirected to a dating site.

_Sign up for free!_

She absentmindedly entered her information. Her name, gender, email, phone number, address. She set up her biography, added a few photographs from a time when she wasn't in a filthy apron or sweatpants, a link to her inactive YouTube channel back when she posted covers to her favorite songs. She didn't think about what she was doing, all she knew was that she was tired—

_Done_

And that she didn't care.


	2. 2

_Four seeking men are interested in you..._

Christine had nearly forgotten about the profile she had made the night before. It wasn't until she was in on the eighth hour of her shift and she glanced at a teen couple sharing a milkshake that she remembered. Anxiety and anticipation fueled the final two hours of her workday and her laptop was the first thing for her to greet when she arrived home.

She looked through the four profiles of the men, read their bios and shuffled through their photos. The first two she viewed were older. David was balding in his mid-forties and seemed to have an extreme interest in sports cars by the extensive collection of photographs featuring him standing in front of some luxury vehicle she'd never seen on the road before. Jonathan was in his early fifties and his bio reading of nothing more than _Looking for a lady who wants to have a good time._ She shivered at that.

The final two were closer to her age. Jake was only three years ahead of her and reminded her of Raoul with his youthful glow, clean-shaven face, and thick head of blonde hair. His bio was lengthy and revealing, the opposite of the final profile she looked at. Mr. Y's profile only featured one photo of a man's suit and tie, his bio even less revealing: _Works for NORR._

Christine frowned when she went back to view Jake's profile, realizing she could not reach out and send a message. _Sorry, the date auction is still in process. Check back after the 24 hour period has ended._

_Auction?_

The online world of dating was already degrading enough. Everyone judged one another upon each other's photos, people were lucky if someone even took the time to read over their hobbies. Now she was just a prize to win? She exhaled heavily through her nostrils. Perhaps it only made sense. She wasn't really on here to find true love anyways. Surely these guys weren't either.

* * *

"All those men want is an attractive girl on their arm and in their bed."

Christine called Meg after she knew her rehearsal was over with, receiving a buckle of laughter in response to her admittance that she had joined a dating site...for sugar daddies, she added with reluctance.

"I don't know if being a sugar baby is for you, Chris."

Christine felt close to tears. "I don't know what to do, Meg. I don't know why I actually went through with this."

"No backing out now, sweety. You'll just have to turn them down gently and explain that you had made a mistake."

Christine whined in frustration. "Now I feel bad."

Meg laughed. "I'm sure some of those men have done this several times before. You shouldn't feel bad."

It was nine at night. One hour more and she found out the results.

"Who knows," Meg sighed. "You might just find someone you actually like."

Christine paced back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, munching on the final packet of Pop-Tarts she had stocked in her pantry. She was coming up on the final few minutes of the auction, and soon she'd know who had been willing to pay the most to go on a date with her.

_Just turn them down gently, _she repeated to herself. _They'll be fine. There are plenty of other girls._

Her computer chimed loudly, signaling the end of the auction.

She raced over to her computer, kneeling on the floor to check the results. Her heart sank in an instant. She surely didn't want to go out with someone close to her father's age, and perhaps Jake wasn't the best idea considering he reminded her too much of her ex, but this mystery man—this Mr. Y—unnerved her with his lack of transparency.

Her computer chimed again. _One new notification._

She felt her heart thudding in her chest. This was it.

_How are you today Miss Daae?_

Her heart was still racing, her mind begging her to end it here. But how could she?

_Doing well! And yourself?_

Guilt crept up her shoulders. Was she really so low that she would continue to lead this man on?

_Good. Are you busy tonight?_

Christine frowned. It was already so late. Did he want to meet up already?

_Nope!_

She laughed at her inability to refrain from using exclamation points. She really was trying to convince this man she was interested, even enthusiastic, about getting to know him. Maybe she really was desperate.

_Would you mind exchanging phone numbers?_

He might as well have asked for her address. Christine wasn't one to give out so much personal information, but seeing as he already knew her full name, her face, her hobbies and interests, it didn't seem to matter. Hell, it probably wouldn't have mattered if she handed over her social security number at this point.

_Sure!_

Christine watched her phone anxiously, waiting for a request to chat via video call. Instead, a text message popped up across her screen.

_Hello._

She wanted to laugh. He asked for her phone number and wanted to continue through text?

_Hey!_

This man was peculiar.

_If you don't mind, I'd prefer texting you instead of sending messages through the site. I don't really use my computer for anything besides work, so if you ever need anything this would be a better way to contact me._

_Sounds good._

Their conversation deadened until her mid-afternoon break the next day when she noticed he'd sent her a message at eight in the morning.

_How are you doing today?_

Christine flopped down onto a pile of concrete blocks by the dumpsters.

_Good. Finally caught a break at work. How about you?_

The dots appeared almost immediately. She wondered if he had been on the edge for the past few hours awaiting her reply.

_Sounds like you've been busy. I'm doing well._

She sighed and nodded, knowing he couldn't see. _I have been busy. I feel like a wreck. Probably look like one too._

_I doubt that. You're much too pretty._

His message made her laugh and her cheeks burned a rosy red. The back door of the restaurant swung open with a loud squeak and she silenced herself immediately, peeking over her shoulder to see one of the back-of-house workers pushing along a trash can, not caring so much as to glance in her direction as he tossed the trash into the dumpster.

_Thanks, _she sent, adding a heart emoticon.

_Don't work too hard, sweety. I'll have a massage arranged for you sometime within the next week, if that's fine with you. It sounds like something you need._

She smiled. _That would be nice._

_Text me when you get home, okay? Let me know if you need anything, too._

_I will._

* * *

_A/N: Apologies that these chapters are short. I plan on updating regularly through October and it's just easier to write a short chapter to publish than a long one. I hope you guys will stick around! Thanks for the reviews!_


	3. 3

She had been texting him for two months now. She started sending him photos from work. Sometimes she'd fluff her hair and pout her lips to show him it had been a rough day. Other times, when it was far too busy for her to step out and get a breath of fresh air, she'd sneak a quick selfie in the bathroom mirror before returning to work.

He'd couple her photos with pictures of his desk, never sending a photo of himself. He was always organized. Sometimes there would be a stack of paperwork in the right corner of his desk or a cup of coffee sitting by the left corner of his keyboard, but never his face. It almost took everything in her power to not beg for a selfie. Mr. Y was still a mystery man, and obviously he desired to remain that way.

"You still don't know his name yet?" Meg cried.

"I know," Christine winced.

"Why don't you just ask him for it?"

"I thought that if he really cared to tell me, he would do so on his own."

Meg groaned. Christine knew she was being ridiculous.

This man was supposed to be taking her on dates and dragging her back to bed at the end of a long day (or at least that's what she thought he was supposed to be doing), but she still couldn't bring herself to ask him any personal questions beyond "How was your day?" Even when she did take a shot at it, asking about his position at the big-name architecture and engineering firm he worked at, he would dismiss the topic.

_It's boring, sweety. I'd rather not bother you with the details, _he told her.

_Excuses_, she thought. For all she knew he could've actually been dealing drugs.

"I just don't know what to do, Meg. He's been so generous and hasn't asked anything of me."

"Maybe he just _likes_ the idea of having being in a relationship."

Christine sighed. "Maybe."

"What are you so upset about? If I could have a man provide for me like that—no strings attached—I'd be happy."

"That's the problem," she whispered, shifting in her seat. "I feel like there is something, he just hasn't asked for it yet."

"Well, if that's the case," Meg paused to sigh, "enjoy it while it lasts."

* * *

_I've lost count of how many times this week I've listened to your cover of Faust._

Christine had forgotten she posted a link for her old YouTube channel on her profile. The fact he even visited it after moving their conversation to text messaging was surprising in itself.

_Was it good? I can't remember._

_Magnificient._

She nearly laughed. She loved to sing when she was younger, it was her passion. She wanted to go to school for it, but after bombing her audition she decided it wasn't for her. She was used to singing for herself and her father. She sang because she loved it, not because she wanted to be the best or to be judged, she just wanted to sing.

_Funny_, she replied. _I'm probably horrible now. I haven't sung for so long._

His reply was delayed._ I don't understand. If I had a voice like yours I'd sing every day._

She used to. She couldn't remember the last time she had.

_Would you sing again? For me?_

His message stunned her. For the past several months this man had helped pay off her father's hospital bills, allowed her to afford a few luxuries she hadn't been able to in a long while, provided her with the consistent company she missed receiving from her friends, and never asked anything in return. But now this.

_What would you want me to sing?_ She thought maybe he'd want her to upload again or send him a video.

_I don't care what you sing, just sing._

* * *

Christine ran through scales, recording herself and playing it back as she used to. She frowned. She was nowhere close to where she used to be. She tried singing one of her favorite aria's "Printemps qui commence" but the music wasn't there. Half an hour later she tried again, putting her music on shuffle and singing along to whatever played.

It was practically self-torture. What used to feel like second nature to her was now exhausting. What happened to her? Why did she not love music anymore?

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong and she didn't like it one bit.

Christine stopped the music and threw her phone to the opposite corner of her room, watching as it landed softly in her laundry basket. She couldn't do it. She couldn't sing.

She was about to cry when she heard her phone ding with a new text alert. She got up and crossed the room, opening it to another message from him.

_I'm leaving work now. You should look at the moon._

She headed outside to her driveway, looking to the sky to find a large, orange moon rising overhead.

_It's huge!_

_The Harvest Moon_, he replied.

She spent a while longer staring at it. When was the last time she actually took a moment to look to the sky? When was the last time she hadn't noticed it besides the times when it was overcast?

_I wish I could see you right now._

Christine paused at the text. This man had been texting her for the past two months, never asking her out on a date or even showing a sliver of interest in desiring to meet her face-to-face. But now, after so long? She didn't know what to do.

He could come to her house, he could meet her and speak to her truly for the first time. He wasn't far, she knew, because the site had linked her to locals. He could drive straight from his work to her place and tell her all about his day (or tell him about hers considering he always wanted to spare her the "boring details"). She'd make him a cup of tea from that luxury tea brand she had wanted to try for so long and only recently purchased, they could snuggle up on the couch and watch a movie or just head straight to bed, and if he wanted to kiss her she would allow it. If he wanted her to touch him, she'd be fine with that too.

Christine shook her head, shocked by her wandering mind. She didn't know this man. He might've just been setting her up to believe she would be okay with loving him. She didn't know what he looked like, didn't know his first name, hardly knew of his own hobbies. He could've been lying to her.

Or maybe he was just as lonely as she was.

_I wish I could see you too._


	4. 4

It was late Sunday night and Christine was just about to hop into bed. She shut off all her lights, made sure she had locked the doors, and headed upstairs. She was just about to send off a good-night text to Mr. Y when her phone lit with his name and below it two options to either pick up or ignore the call.

Her heart surged with panic. He was calling. He never called.

Christine hastily pressed the green button, pulling the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

For a moment she expected silence. Surely he called by mistake.

The voices she'd given this man in her mind were built from all the messages he'd sent over the past several months. She played with it all: thin, throaty, nasally. She didn't expect this ripple of velvet and silk that was coming through her receiver.

"If you wanted to get to know me better, you probably should've tried a little harder than Maria."

Christine froze in shock. Every Sunday afternoon he set an appointment for her at the spa. Same room, same masseuse, same Swedish massage. Her masseuse Maria asked her often how things were going with him, and Christine had never thought to ask if she had met him, but for some reason, the possibility struck her.

"Have you ever met him before?" Christine asked as Maria rubbed oil onto her back.

Maria knew very little about Christine and Mr. Y's odd relationship. She knew they only ever texted and he paid for her massages.

Christine hoped that maybe Maria thought they were in a long-distance relationship, but in all honesty, she didn't really care what people thought about their relationship. She didn't care anymore that she was a sugar baby, she felt there was something more between them than an exchange of company for cash. Perhaps that was because they had never undergone the exchange.

Maria responded hesitantly. "Only once. It was some time ago."

"What was he like?"

"He seemed nice. Very quiet."

"What did he look like?"

Here Maria paused. Christine turned her head as best she could to look at her. "I don't think I should tell you that."

Christine's brows furrowed. "Why not?"

She saw Maria's throat bob. "Mr. Young doesn't _look_ like other men."

Christine felt the puzzle pieces slowly falling into place. His last name, the possible reason for his hesitance in meeting her.

"How so?"

Maria slowly resumed her work. "He wears a mask."

Christine frowned. "Like a ski mask?"

"No, it's made of latex."

Christine tried closing her eyes and imagining a picture of him. A man in a suit and mask. It was an odd combination.

He chuckled into her ear. Had anyone's laughter ever made her feel so giddy? "But I guess I can't really blame you for sniffing around, can I, Miss Daaé?"

She swallowed nervously. It was her turn to speak. She thought it was rather funny how she was so insecure about her voice now. In comparison to the man over the phone, she felt almost as if she wasn't worthy.

"It's Christine," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Y-you can call me Christine."

Silence. She thought maybe he was reconsidering being with her.

"Christine," he repeated as if trying it out for the first time. Her name fit like a glove on his tongue. "Erik."

She blinked, barely catching what he'd said after her name. "W-what?"

"Erik. My name is Erik."

She smiled. She wanted to jump for joy. She knew his name. His _entire_ name, not some initial, not some letter of the alphabet. "Erik," she repeated.

He hummed something of an affirmation and their conversation fell to silence. Perhaps this too was why he didn't ever desire meeting up face-to-face. Maybe he wasn't good at conversation.

Christine cleared her throat. "It is entirely your fault, you know? I wouldn't have needed to probe my masseuse if you hadn't been so secretive these past few months."

She felt her confidence slowly building. It was odd. She had been speaking with this man for a while now. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?

He chuckled again. "I guess you are right, Miss— I mean, Christine."

She laughed. He was trying. "Did you just get off work?"

She heard him yawn, pulling the phone away to lessen the noise. He was tired. He was real. "Yeah, just got home."

Christine hummed in acknowledgement. "Long day?"

"As usual."

"Tell me everything."

There was a pause. "I'm sure you don't want to hear all about that, sweetheart."

Her heart stammered. It was nice to finally hear his actual voice calling her all the cute little nicknames he'd given her. "But I do."

He yawned again. "I don't really want to get myself worked up before bed. There's this huge project and there's a lot going on…"

Christine found herself leaning in, excited he was finally letting her in on some details of his work.

"It's just," he paused to sigh, "it's a lot. Maybe another day."

"Maybe another day," she agreed, smiling.

She heard a rustle of fabric and the shutting of a door. "I guess I should let you go," he said sighing. "I'm sure you were just about to climb into bed for the night."

Christine shrugged. "It's fine, I'm glad you called." She paused. "It's just nice to put a voice to the man, you know?"

His laughter was breathy. "I haven't been good to you. I'm sorry, Christine."

She shook her head. "No! You've been so good to me! That's just what I don't understand: why you could be so good and expect nothing in return."

Their conversation had been filled with a lot of empty, silent gaps, but this had to have been the longest of them all.

"Sometimes it's just nice to feel like someone appreciates you."

The words squeezed her heart so tightly it almost hurt. "I know what you mean."

"I know you do, sweety. Especially since no one at that job of yours seems to appreciate you."

She wondered how his arms might've felt around her, what position he'd pull her into as they slipped into bed together. Would he want her to face him and rub small circles over his chest as he rubbed her back? Or would he prefer to stick his face into her hair, push the locks aside so that he could kiss the back of her neck?

She blinked away her little fantasy. His texts were only enough to make her mind wander so much. Now that she had his name, his voice...he never felt so much like a real man before.

"We should get dinner together sometime." Christine would've been surprised by the boldness of her suggestion a month or two ago, but now, after having admitted to herself she was desperate to truly meet this man, she found she wasn't surprised one bit.

The length between her comment and his almost scared her that he might just turn her down, might just say she was moving too fast for him. "I think that's a lovely idea." Again, that smile appeared on her lips. "I actually have had a place in mind. Unless you had anyplace you wanted to go to?"

She shook her head, laughing. "I'm fine with whatever."

"Great," he said. "How's next Sunday evening after your massage? Maybe I can get off work a little sooner."

"Sounds good!"

"Alright," he said conclusively. "I'll make reservations and send you the details."

"Alright."

His voice swooped low, bringing her down against the bed with it. "Have a good night, Christine."

"Sweet dreams, Erik."


	5. 5

"Miss Daaé?"

Christine stopped in her tracks, shocked that the hostess already knew her name.

"Yes," she confirmed, smiling as best she could while she tugged at the strap of her purse for some ounce of comfort. _He must've shown her a picture of you or something._

The hostess smiled. "Let me show you to your table."

Christine kept her eyes trained on the back of her hostess's head, listening to the light conversation and clinking of forks and wine glasses around her.

_I shouldn't be here, _she kept telling herself. _I don't belong here._

Christine spent much of her afternoon practicing her smile and laugh. She didn't want to be too obnoxious, just cute enough to win him over. She spent an entire hour after her massage working on her makeup and hair, perfecting every little detail down to a speck of glitter. Her gown at least gave her some confidence on its own, making her feel like a princess with its baby pink color and floral embroidery. Still, amongst this crowd, she felt like she stood out like a sore thumb. She thought she could feel every single one of their eyes burning into the back of her neck, whispering amongst one another about how she was not one of them.

She realized she was being led towards the back to an area separated from the rest of the restaurant where she could look out at the sunset and surrounding city. When the hostess moved to the side, Christine could see that there were very few tables in this section of the restaurant. Every table that was available had already been filled by couples all except for one where a man sat, his back facing her.

The hostess approached, and Christine followed, her nerves heightening.

"Mr. Young."

Erik turned to the hostess, and then looked over his shoulder to Christine. The man she'd pictured wearing a shiny black latex mask disappeared from her mind, replaced by the man rising from his chair before her.

He was far from what she imagined, unlike any man she'd ever seen before, and yet somehow, Christine found herself bound by him. His mask was the same in the way she had pictured its eyes and mouth being cut out, but the color and matte texture matched his skin tone. It was even cut at the top for his hair, almost making it appear as if he was wearing a face on his face except only his eyes and mouth gave hint to his expression. His smile was calming enough in itself, and slowly she felt the false smile she had put on melt into something genuine.

His height was just an added bonus. _No more having to climb on the countertops, _she thought. _But I might have to jump when I want to kiss him. _And he was so thin. It was a wonder how he'd been able to find a suit that fit him so well, but Christine knew he had enough to afford himself a tailor. Especially with how nice it looked: crisp black with a red tie and pocket square.

All it took was his voice to make her realize she had stopped breathing, too entranced by his appearance to even care to remember she had to breathe.

"Christine."

His voice sounded just as it had over the phone; warm and velvety, it almost melted her to the core. She wanted to wrap herself in its sound, forget everything and just live in his voice.

Christine blinked away her trance. "Erik."

The hostess smiled at them both awkwardly, although neither of them noticed, and started back towards the door. "Your waiter will be with you shortly."

Erik turned and gestured to Christine's seat on the opposite side of the table and moved to pull it for her. She followed, thanking him as he reclaimed his chair.

"Sorry I'm a little late," she apologized, hanging her purse behind her. "Traffic was horrendous."

He laughed the same dark chuckle she'd heard over the phone. She had to resist the urge to shiver.

She was only partially lying. Not only had city traffic brought her close to tears that she almost gave up and drove back home but Meg also insisted she call her before she walked in, giving her a little "pep talk" that extended far beyond what Christine had anticipated.

"It's fine," he assured, earning a smile from her.

She looked down at the menu before her, realizing immediately how limited it was. Each item's name was lengthy and the descriptions were beyond her own comprehension. It might as well have been written in another language.

"What do you usually like to get here?"

Erik chuckled again, and she realized with a blush that he'd been watching her stare in confusion at the sheet of paper.

All her life she'd been used to familiarity. She ate at the same five places for the last couple of years, preferred choosing from the same three recipes if she decided to eat at home, and now that she'd broken outside of that, she didn't know what to do. Maybe she wasn't fit for this lifestyle, maybe she wasn't fit for what was to come.

"Would you like me to order for you?"

She nodded. "That would be nice."

He smiled and gathered her menu with his own, setting it off to the side in a neat pile.

"It's been some time since I've eaten here. The menu only changes seasonally."

Christine poured herself a glass of water from the bottle that had been sitting in the center of the table. "Where do you usually prefer to eat?"

He sighed deeply, folding his hands in his lap. "Nothing ever seems to beat a home-cooked meal."

Christine hummed with intrigue. "Do you have a personal chef or something?"

Erik smiled briefly, releasing a breathy laugh. "If you could consider oneself a 'personal chef.'"

Christine found her laugh becoming less and less fabricated with conversation. Maybe the practice was at least helping her avoid snorting, but it seemed like she didn't need it as much as she thought. She was actually clicking with him. "You should cook for me sometime, then."

"Already suggesting what we should do for our next date?" His eyes widened and his mask shifted slightly, his brows rising underneath.

Christine shrugged. "Whatever you'd like to do."

Erik sighed and dropped his eyes to his glass of water. Christine could see by the glint in his eyes that something was bothering him. She was about to ask but the waiter beat her, asking them if they were interested in the specialty wine.

Conversation was light for the most part and dinner reminded her of an abstract painting she'd seen once in an art museum, leaving her stomach desiring more. Christine told him about her day, leaving out the little details of her stumbling in heels she hadn't worn for some time as well as the practice she had done in the bathroom.

"I'm glad you've been enjoying the massages. You work too hard not to get pampered."

Christine smiled bashfully. "My father always said we take for granted the times when we get to relax, but hard work is the only thing that will truly make us appreciate it."

Erik set his wine glass down. "Your dad sounds like a wise man."

Christine sighed and nodded. "He was."

The sun began setting at their shoulders and Christine couldn't help but stare at the way the sky had burnt orange. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually looked at the sunset.

"Would you like a better view?"

She nearly forgot where she was, blinking in surprise when he spoke again. He must've thought she was easily distracted, but she was too intrigued by his proposal to even care to feel embarrassed.

"We can go higher?"

He pulled several bills from his wallet and slapped them on the table, standing from his seat. Christine looked to him with bewilderment as he held out his hand. She grabbed her purse with one hand before accepting his invitation with the other.

He walked swiftly through the restaurant as she struggled behind, using his hand as an anchor in trying to keep up with him. The sun was almost gone by the time they made it up to the top floor, the last sliver of its orb just starting to disappear from view.

From the deck, Christine could see the entire west side of the city. Erik chuckled at her awed expression, letting go of her hand for the first time since they'd left the restaurant. She shuddered as a gust of cool fall air assaulted her, and brought her arms across her chest in an attempt to conserve some of her body heat. He shucked off his jacket almost immediately and placed it over her shoulders.

She frowned. "Now you're going to get cold."

He shook his head, laughing slightly. "So long as you're warm, so am I."

Christine squinted in disbelief at his statement and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his chest and praying that the five layers of foundation and blush and highlighter didn't dirty his shirt or tie. He was almost hesitant in wrapping his arms around her, but she didn't pay much mind to anything other than his warmth underneath.

"I have work in the morning." She barely heard the words slip from her mouth over the sound of the wind whipping around them and she wasn't quite sure why she had said them either. Perhaps it was because she needed to remind herself that she couldn't stand there forever. Perhaps it was because there was something about him that made her feel like she was safe and home and she just didn't want to leave. But she had to.

He sighed, and she dug her face further into his chest. "As do I."

Despite wanting him to, she still protested when he offered to walk her back to the parking deck. He ignored her, insisting it wasn't safe. And she knew.

The main reason she didn't want him walking her back was her vehicle. All night long she tried avoiding the topic of money. She thought it was hilarious that she wouldn't have ever met this man had she not been struggling financially, but for some reason, she didn't want their relationship to be about money. She wanted something more—something she couldn't articulate.

She was surprised to see him smile at the sight of her father's rusty old Chevy pickup.

He leaned over the bed of the truck as if calculating what he could fit inside of it. "What year is this?"

"1970."

"And it still runs well?"

"My father always took care of his stuff." _For the most part, _she thought to add due to the lack of a paint job. Erik didn't seem to mind it. More he was fascinated that something so old was still capable of performing its job.

"You know, I'm working on restoring an old Victorian piano."

She hopped into the driver's seat and traded her heels out for a pair of old sneakers she had tossed in the passenger seat, ignoring the urge to rub the heels of her feet. "Really?" She was surprised he was _actually _talking about himself without all her poking.

"I picked it off of an older gentleman who was thinking about throwing it away." He pivoted to her and squinted inquisitively. "Have you ever looked at something that's been neglected and thought worthless by others and had to question if something was wrong with yourself because something inside of you saw its true beauty?"

She pursed her lips in thought, trying to remember the last time she ever wanted to restore a Victorian piano.

"It's just odd," he continued, turning back to glance over her truck again, "it's like you see what it can be and something so powerful pulls you toward it, you're practically helpless."

Christine smiled. "You should show me it when it's done."

Erik turned and smiled at her. She watched, feeling her heart squelch as he lifted the knuckle of her hand to his lips. It wasn't until then that she noticed the bloated, pink edge of his lip which had just barely been hidden by the mask. "Thank you for spending the evening with me."

It took her a moment to realize he had said anything, and she responded in a stumble of words. "I...I enjoyed it."

She blushed at her fault, expecting him to feel discouraged by her awkward nature. Instead, he smiled.

"I hope we can do this again sometime soon."

She thought to ask him if he wanted to come home with her; if he wanted to help her brush and braid her hair; if he would like to curl up on the couch with her before flipping the TV over to some show she usually enjoyed watching before bed. _But he has work in the morning and so do you_, she reminded herself.

"I'd love to."

She watched as he slipped his hand from hers, gently pushing her legs so that they were inside the vehicle. "Drive safe, Christine."

He shut the door for her and walked off. Christine gave herself a moment to let the regret sink in. She had been talking to this man for almost three months now and she could hardly bring herself to say anything she was feeling. At the least, she wanted to thank him, yet somehow she was struggling to.

She reached to slip her key into the ignition, freezing as she realized she still had his coat pulled over her shoulders. She frantically started her vehicle and pulled off, hoping to find Erik walking toward the entrance of the parking deck. But he was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Christine had been staring at her phone for the past five minutes, their conversation on her screen. Maybe it wasn't appropriate to call him now. It had only been two hours since their date ended, after all. Maybe she should wait until morning.

_Screw it. _Christine clicked on his name and then the "call" button.

She frowned when she got his voicemail, an automated message greeting her instead of his voice. For a moment, she debated hanging up and trying again, but she changed her mind at the sudden sound of the tone.

"Hey, uh..." Christine winced, realizing she hadn't planned what to say, "this is Christine. I wanted to call and tell you I had a really good time tonight. Sorry I didn't really say that earlier, I was kind of nervous."

She bit her lip, unsure of herself. _No shit, Sherlock!_

"I just wanted to see what day this week would be best for you to schedule another date. I thought it might be easier over a call since I've got a tight schedule and you always seem to be so busy as well."

She sighed into the phone. "I'm free Tuesday night, if that works. It doesn't even have to be dinner, we could see a late movie or you could come over to my place and we could play a game or watch TV or something."

_Oh, God, _she thought. _I sound ridiculous._

She shrugged. "I don't really know, whatever works for you. Give me a call back. Alright, bye."

Christine fixed herself some tea for the night, shaking off the clumsiness of her voice message as she snuggled with her couch pillow before she laid down to enjoy a rerun of one of her favorite cheesy haunted horror stories shows. She pulled his coat over her shoulders before pulling a blanket over her legs, closing her eyes and focusing her attention more on the musky scent of his cologne which still lingered on his clothes.

Somewhere in the background of her dreams her phone buzzed.


	6. 6

"You didn't even kiss?!"

Christine pulled her phone away from her ear, glancing around to make sure none of her coworkers were listening in on her conversation, or at least couldn't hear Meg's shrieking.

"No, we did not." Christine lowered her voice to a whisper, hoping Meg would catch on. She did not.

"_Oh my God, _Christine!"

She rolled her eyes, knowing very well that her friend was probably rolling hers too.

"All this talk about how he treated you so well and how nice he looked, and you didn't even kiss him!" She was repeating herself.

Christine started picking at a cluster of grime on her shoes. "I'm just waiting for him to make the first move, you know?" Her statement wasn't in the least bit convincing, and Meg knew it too.

"_Sure_."

Christine tried focusing on her breathing. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on the date, holding his hand, laughing, listening to the rapid beating of his heart as she pulled him tight.

"Whatever happened to fearless Christine? Whatever happened to the Christine that didn't need permission to decide her own fate?"

Christine squeezed her eyelids tighter. The memory of her disaster audition flashed before her eyes, her coworkers and managers stepping on her like a rug, her father dying. She was trying so hard to keep it all in. "I don't know." _But I do._

The phone fell to silence. For a moment she convinced herself she liked it more this way.

"I care about you, Chris. I just don't want you to miss out on things you might regret."

She couldn't shake that image of him, clean-cut in his suit, wearing a mask she found herself to be fantasizing more and more about. "I just—" _I don't know how to be in a relationship anymore._

"It's okay. You take things as slow or fast as you need to. I'm only teasing, you know?"

_It doesn't sound that way._

"It's hard being in a relationship, I get it. Me and—"

Christine's phone began buzzing, another call coming in. It was Erik. She had changed his name on her phone, adding a little heart emoticon right beside it the way she saw other people did with their significant others.

"Can I call you back, Meg? He's calling."

Meg stopped mid-sentence. "Oh. Yeah! Alright, talk to you later, Chris!"

She picked up on Erik's call. "Hey!" She could already feel her entire mood elevating.

"Hey, I tried to call you back last night, but you didn't pick up." Christine frowned. She must have missed the _Missed Call _message. "You talked about maybe doing something Tuesday night?"

Christine felt her face light. "Yes! I was wondering if we could go on another date or something like that."

The back door of the restaurant busted open and Christine straightened, completely missing Erik's words as her manager Joe yelled for her.

"Where are you, bitch?! A whole kid's soccer team just walked in!"

Christine stood and brushed the dirt off the back of her pants. "Erik, let me call you back."

"There you are. We're not paying you to sit on your ass."

Christine frowned, she was allowed a thirty-minute break for working a double shift. "I'm coming."

"You're lucky we're always short staff. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be working here anymore."

"Christine, who is that?" She could hear Erik's voice even with the phone pulled away.

"I'll call you later. I've got to go." She hung up, stuffing her phone into her back pocket as Joe continued to assault her with insults. She ignored every word, or at least pretended to as she headed back to work.

* * *

Christine couldn't understand why she was still nervous. Months of sending this man pictures of herself looking a hot mess at work, sometimes even before bed without makeup, and still she had to perfect every detail of her appearance.

_All you're doing is going to his house, _she reminded herself. _You could wear ripped jeans and a plain shirt and he probably wouldn't even bat an eye._

Still, she put on a nice dress and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Even then she wasn't sure if it was enough.

Relief flooded her as he answered his front door, welcoming her with what she was coming to believe was his signature smirk. She extended his coat to him without even stepping inside. "You forgot this Sunday."

His face brightened. "I was wondering why it was so cold on my way back." He took the coat from her as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"See! I told you that you'd be cold."

He shrugged. "I assumed it was just the emptiness I felt in your absence."

She straightened, her face reddening with a blush. She could see that withheld laugh returning to his mouth as he extended an ushering hand to her waist.

"Come in, you're letting all the warm air out."

Erik's house was one of those few phenomena where the house was bigger on the inside than the out. Christine attributed it to the lack of stuff. There was a painting here and there, but for the most part, his living space appeared minimalistic.

"Have you been living here long?"

"I moved into this house only a few months ago. For a while, I was based in Detroit, but I had plans to move this way."

They entered the kitchen and she had to hold back a gasp in awe of how spacious it was. He had a double oven and stovetop with a range hood in the center island, even a touchscreen fridge. She couldn't help but picture herself beside him, washing vegetables in the stainless steel sink as he chopped at the cutting board. Her hip would bump into his by accident, she'd apologize and he'd set down his knife, wrapping his arms around her to pull her to him. She'd laugh and blush as he showered her with sweet nothings, pressing his lips to hers once he felt he'd gone on long enough.

Erik pulled a stool for her at the bar, patting it as a signal for her to sit. She obliged, shaking away her short fantasy as she did.

He disappeared for a moment, returning with his sleeves rolled and an apron tied around his waist. "I hope you're in the mood for shrimp. You said you liked seafood, right?"

Christine nodded enthusiastically, happy he remembered that little shred of detail that she barely recalled giving him.

He smiled. "Good."

She watched him cross to his sink and wash his hands and forearms. She was oddly mesmerized by the way he did things with those hands. It was as if every motion was calculated. Two nights before, he plucked her menu, took great care in straightening it with his own, lifted his wine glass like it was some fine art.

She noticed the way the tendons in his arms contracted, how the veins protruded as if his skin was paper-thin, how his fingers seemed to dance and caress every object. She remembered how cool and rough his hand was when he offered it to her.

"Red or white?"

Christine took five seconds to register his words and blinked in surprise. "Red."

He seemed unfazed by her staring. She wondered if he was desensitized. But it wasn't because of his mask, as she thought most people would stare at him for. It was just _him._

Erik plucked a bottle of red wine and two glasses from his wine rack, crossing back to the bar where she sat. "What kind of music are you in the mood for?"

Christine shrugged, entranced by his wine pouring more than anything else.

"Alexa, tune in to channel 75 on Sirius XM."

Don Pasquale filtered out from a set of speakers she hadn't noticed in the far corner of the kitchen. She could see the slightest clue of a smile in the corners of his lips and found herself smiling too.

A timer went off on the counter as he finished pouring his glass, and he set the bottle down to turn his focus to the linguine. She watched him turn off the stove and pour the linguine into a colander he had set aside in the sink.

_He must be in the design department, _she thought, thinking of the firm where he worked. _He's obviously an artist._

"Would you like to help me and slice the lemons for the garnish?" He gestured to a lemon sitting on the cutting board to his right.

Christine smiled and lept down from her stool. This was it, she could make that little fantasy a reality.

Erik moved from the sink to pour the pasta into two bowls, giving her room to wash her hands. She held one hand under the spout, twisting the handle with her other. Water spurted out, spraying her face and dress as it bounced off her hand.

She felt Erik's hand on hers, guiding it to turn the handle back. Once the rush of water seized, she could hear his laughter and in spite of the embarrassment, laughter bubbled out from within her too.

Her eyes were still closed as she turned to face him. "Here, let me help you."

She felt the soft glide of a towel across her cheek and opened her eyes in panic. Erik froze, his eyes glancing from the fresh patch of skin to the swatch of makeup on his white kitchen towel, and back.

"I'm so sorry."

Nerves or genuine amusement—she wasn't sure, but she began laughing.

"It's fine."

She left him to the lemon, removing herself to clean up in the bathroom. She tried removing all but her eye makeup, but the look just didn't feel right without all the strawberry pink blush.

_Screw it._

Christine cleaned her entire face, not caring about the dark circles that were still under her eyes nor the uneven texture of her skin. _Eventually, this is what he'll be waking up to in the morning, _she thought. _Might as well get used to feeling vulnerable now._

Erik was removing his apron when she reentered the kitchen. He turned to regard her with a smile, hanging his apron on a hook by the fridge before grabbing their bowls and gesturing to the dining room she had only seen a bit of from where she sat at the breakfast bar. "Shall we?"

* * *

"So where exactly do you work?"

Christine knew the question was coming, especially after the whole fiasco the day before. She would've danced around the topic, saying she worked at a restaurant as she had before, but the wine made her speak. Yeah, it was definitely the wine. "Sammy's."

Erik just about choked on his food. "Isn't that like one of the worst-rated restaurants in Chicago?"

"It is the worst rated," she admitted, poker-faced.

"How are you guys still open?"

Christine shrugged. "The food's cheap, the restaurant's clean. Most of our customers are poor college students who'd rather die of food poisoning than student loans."

Erik laughed. "Shitty food, shitty employers…"

She felt like she was shrinking into herself. She knew if she talked down on her managers at work she would be fired on the spot.

"I don't understand why you stay there."

"I tried finding another job. I just kept getting rejected."

He pursed his lips as he chewed at the inside of his cheek, holding his fork still. "I don't understand why no one would hire you. As intelligent, hard-working and beautiful as you are, you think there would be people begging you to work for them."

She felt heat rush up her neck and face. No more makeup to help hide that she was blushing. "I'm sure they'd say you're looking at me through a broken pair of glasses."

His fist was suddenly upon the table and she jumped as it shook. "Don't let them get to you like that, Christine."

She realized her breathing and heartbeat had quickened. She didn't think those eyes of his were capable of being so fiery; molten golden lava, hot and boiling. He was upset. Not at her, not for what she said, but for what her workplace had done to her. She thought herself worthless, incapable, disposable. But she only thought so low of herself because of them and everything they had told her. They told her so often that even she began to believe it.

And _he _was upset.

* * *

Christine joined him back in the kitchen with her bowl, standing a careful distance from the sink as he reached to turn the water on.

"It's very sensitive," he said, laughing slightly. "You only have to turn the handle a little bit."

An easy stream of water came pouring out, and he began washing his bowl and fork. Christine moved beside him, purposefully bumping her hip into his. He glanced at her mischievously, lips pursed. She didn't know what sort of wicked thoughts were occurring behind those eyes of his until he moved slightly to the side, bumping his hip back into hers.

She playfully gasped in shock.

"You didn't say 'sorry,' my dear."

Christine gulped. That _was _how she originally pictured it going. "Well, you didn't make dessert, so you deserve it," she teased.

Erik's eyes widened and he shut off the water. "I forgot about the pie."

He shifted to head for the fridge and Christine laughed. "Oh, you're not going anywhere, mister!"

She set her fork and bowl on the counter and pulled him back to her, her fingers bunching the fabric at the collar of his shirt, then moving to his mask as he began doubling down to her size. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the look of surprise in his eyes that made her do it, but she just knew she had to. There was nowhere else she was going with this.

She could taste the meal they had shared. She could taste the lemon, the parsley, the wine. She could taste every flavor and every note, and there wasn't one bit of it that she didn't enjoy because it was on _him_.

He broke the kiss with a final pluck, separating himself with a look she couldn't distinguish between stun and awe. His thumb traced along the bottom of her lip as if searching for something, confirming it was just what he had felt.

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead in an attempt to return it to its original, neat state. He captured her hand as she was pulling away, and brought it to his cheek, pressing it there. "I'm never going to be able to convince myself any of this actually happened."

Christine laughed for a moment before realizing that he wasn't joking. He really wasn't going to be able to tell himself that she had kissed him. He would deny it. Deny, deny, deny until he came to the conclusion that the memory was fabricated.

She swallowed. Maybe _this _was why he didn't try to move things forward with her. Maybe he knew he wouldn't have been capable of believing it.

Without warning, his lips were upon hers again. He was holding her, caressing her, smoothing his hand up and down her side as his other hand steadied itself at her back.

_I want to believe this._

His kiss was wild, desperate, starved; then loving, affectionate, sweet. He was learning, quickly.

His lips moved to the corner of her mouth, across her cheek, down her jaw, and lingered at the side of her throat. She adjusted herself, lifting her arms up his back so she could cling to him, twisting her neck slightly so that he kissed at the most sensitive part. She couldn't help the needy cry that filtered out from between her lips, drawing him back to reality.

He stopped although his lips still hovered near her throat. She didn't move, wishing that he'd continue. Erik released his grip on her slightly, and she shivered when she felt his finger guide a strand of her hair away from her neck.

"What time do you have to be at work in the morning?"

Christine swallowed. "Eight." She didn't want to have to think about it. She didn't want him thinking about it either.

He stood there a while longer, debating as Christine waited anxiously.

Finally, he sighed, long and hard, snaking both of his hands around her back. "I could work from home and drive you in the morning. That is...if you'd like to stay the night."

She could feel his hands as gentle as they were, holding onto her, begging her.

_Your house is on the way for him, _her mind chimed in. _He could stop there first so you can change and—_

"I can't."

She could feel her heart clenching itself as he released a shaky breath of air, his hands shifting slightly up her back as he tucked his cheek into her neck. "I know you can't."

_I was just hoping you would._

Christine wanted to cry. Here was this man: loving, generous, desolate. He had everything he could possibly ever need except someone to love him. And here she was. She could be that someone. And she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

* * *

**_A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the reviews! I apologize the last chapter took a while to upload. Although most of this story has been thought out for the past few months (and some of it already written), I find I'm incapable of being satisfied with much of what I previously wrote. Also, college is kicking me in this arse this month so I'm trying my best to balance everything. Again, thanks for being so supportive!_**

**_P.S. I PROMISE this story will get kinky soon enough! I just can't resist backstory!_**


	7. 7

She knew what was to come if she had said yes. He would've kissed her. He would've claimed her lips for himself, swept her off her feet, carried her up to that king-sized bed she dreamt of, and he would've made love to her all night long. She'd wake up to those golden-brown eyes in the morning and she'd be powerless. She'd beg for more, ignoring how sore she was from the night before, and he'd provide.

She wouldn't have been able to leave him. Even if he begged her to get up and get ready for work, she wouldn't have been capable of it. She wouldn't have left his house, she wouldn't have shown up to her shift.

She couldn't take her mind off of things. She couldn't think of anything else other than the meal he had made, the wine, the way his body felt pressed against hers, the way she felt every time their lips met. Not even her late-night solution to the tingling between her legs could help her the next day at work, and her performance began lacking because of it.

"Christine!"

She had stepped out to take her break at the same time she always did, hoping to squeeze in a phone call with Erik before she had to head back. She hoped Joe would at least allow her this one time to catch her breath. She knew it was foolish to hope.

"First you fucked up and wrote up fries instead of tots for a customer, then you wrote a request for extra tomatoes instead of no tomatoes on a burger—"

She drew in a long breath of air. She never messed up like this. Not this often. And now she was to pay the price by having to listen to the old routine of insults.

"Now we have to remake all this shit because _you _fucked up! Don't you know how much we've lost because of _your _mistakes today?"

_Probably a whole dollar, _she thought. In the past four hours of her shift handling several dozens of customers, she only received seven complaints. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, although she wished she hadn't messed up at all.

Her mind again, unintentionally, replayed a conversation she had with Erik the night before.

Just as she was about to head out, he gently tugged her away from the door, pressing his lips to hers for the final time as if it was his last hope in convincing her to stay. When he broke away, his fingers slipped into her hair, pushing it back from her face.

"I care about you, Christine."

She felt his words more than she heard them. She had lost count of many times he had sent her the same tender words over the phone, but _hearing_ them with _that voice_…

"I was afraid after Sunday night that you wouldn't want to see me again." His eyes shifted between each of hers as if he was still searching for a grain of evidence that she wasn't there because she _truly_ wanted to be. "That's why I left my coat with you," he confessed. "I knew you still had it on, but I thought at least…"

She watched his throat bob as he looked to their hands, connected between them. He held her so gently.

His voice swooped low she almost missed what he said. "I thought I might at least get to see you one final time if you decided to return it."

Christine squeezed lightly at his fingers, unsure what to say.

His eyes found hers once more. Even with the mask, she could tell his brows were deeply furrowed. "I don't know what I'm doing, I just know I want to do everything right with you, and I know I probably can't be the man you want—" she felt her heart turning in on itself. He'd really doubt the potential for their relationship?

"—but at least let me be the best man I can be for you."

Christine pulled him into an embrace. She couldn't remember what exactly she expected before she went on a date with him, but these heartfelt endearments weren't it. Even if much of his text messages had been that way, she thought it was just him buttering her up, preparing her to be all his. And maybe she wouldn't have admitted it, but she already was.

"Why don't you speak, bitch?!"

Christine jumped. She forgot where she was—not at _his _house, not in _his _arms.

Joe was practically hovering over her now, gritting his teeth. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't fire you."

"I'll give you one."

Christine jumped again, this time in surprise. Erik appeared from around the corner, pulling Joe off his feet and slamming him into the side of the dumpster. She was too shocked over Erik's sudden appearance to notice the look of pure fear on her manager's face.

"Do you really think that harassing one of your employees is going to do anything for your business?"

"Erik!" Christine could see Joe was struggling for air. She thought it was funny: he'd put her through hell for so long, and somehow she cared.

But Erik had told her the night before. "You're not like them, Christine. You're so much better. Don't let them get to you."

Immediately, Erik's grip loosened and Joe dropped to the ground, coughing and shaking. She saw Erik look at his hands as if he hadn't seen them before—like he'd lost control of them.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along toward the parking lot. She didn't know where she was going, but anywhere was better than where they were.

"I better not see you back on this property, bitch!"

Joe had finally found his breath again. She felt and saw the same anger boil in Erik's eyes. He turned like a wild, defensive animal, snarling.

"Erik." Christine tugged at his hand, reminding him they were leaving.

He looked at her, innocence returning to his eyes. "Christine—"

"Don't let him get to you."

His throat bobbed and when she tugged at his hand again, he did not resist.

* * *

"What were you doing?"

Christine made Erik follow her to the grocery store near her house, initially thinking she'd confront him in her kitchen. A near-to-empty parking lot seemed like a better option. She didn't know what she was feeling, she didn't know what he'd say, she didn't know how she'd react.

Erik practically stumbled out of his car towards her, maintaining a careful distance. "I just wanted to visit you."

"Why?" She didn't intend on sounding so offended by his gesture. She knew he cared. She just couldn't bring herself to register all that had just occurred. He'd been so gentle with her, so cautious, and in one instant he had her manager up against the dumpster, ready to tear him apart limb from limb.

He took a moment to respond. "I— I thought maybe you'd been having a rough day and I wanted to…" He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a wrapped sub sandwich. "I thought you'd appreciate actual food."

He hesitantly extended the sandwich to her, asking more than expecting her to take it. Instead, she slipped into his arms, pulling him tight. He was quick to accept her, folding her into him. She didn't think she had missed his arms—his warmth—this much.

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

He squeezed her tight. "I'm so sorry, Christine."

She could hear genuine regret in his voice, but he didn't have to say anything. She already knew.

_This _was what she was afraid of. She was afraid of being jobless, dependent on someone else. As much as she was already struggling on her own, and as good as Erik had been to her, she couldn't bring herself to trust him wholeheartedly. She had been slowly sinking on a boat full of holes, and he had been there to patch them all up. For once she was able to float. But the distant storm she had worried about for so long had come at last, and her boat was swept out from under her. All she had left to do was keep her head above water.

Erik gently pushed her back, gripping her at the shoulder. She looked at him, wide eyes meeting wider eyes.

"You can move in with me."

She thought she misheard him.

"I have a spare bedroom, you could go shopping for stuff to decorate your room and wherever else in the house." He slipped his hands down over her arms and pulled the knuckles of her hands to his lips. "You can be happy."

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her beating heart. She thought of the kitchen and all the meals they could prepare together, a living room with a large couch they could snuggle on, an office where she would finally have room to continue abandoned sewing projects. There was no room for a spare bedroom though, only _their _bedroom.

She'd spend her time watching the house, taking care of it and making it theirs. When he came home from work, she'd already have dinner and a bath ready. They'd feed each other nibbles of food as they soaked, and when they were done they'd head off to bed.

"I'll even get you a dog if I have to—"

He groaned when her mouth met his. If she went home, she'd have to wake alone. She'd have to face the reality she'd been running from for so long. Nowhere to go, nobody to be with. If she went home with him, maybe she'd have to stare at the walls on the occasion and contemplate how exactly she got there, but at least she'd have him. Or at least she could make herself enjoy having him while it lasted.

"Show me the way home," she whispered.

* * *

Christine had made the effort to pick up some groceries before heading back to his house.

"I'll have the fire going when you arrive," he said, packing a few essentials she had picked up from her house into the back of his car. "Drive safe."

The door was unlocked when she arrived, but Erik wasn't anywhere to be found. She dropped her bag in the kitchen, calling for him as she left for the dining room. She walked down the hall, still receiving no answer. He wasn't in the living room, and the fireplace there was dead. She left for the kitchen again, completely puzzled.

Erik was standing by the bar, eyeing her grocery bag with curiosity. He had changed into a pair of jeans and an orange waffle knit sweater that fit him perfectly. Even out of his business suit, Christine felt some deep urge to crawl into his lap and just let him hold her.

"I bought some stuff for s'mores." She crossed to the bar and pulled out a pack of graham crackers. "But we could do these another night if you changed your mind about the fire."

He shook his head and gestured toward a door she hadn't been through. "The fire's outside."

She formed a small O with her lips. Erik tugged at the strap of her apron. She didn't realize she was still wearing it.

"Don't you want to change out of these old rags?"

She laughed. "I guess I should."

Erik took the packet of graham crackers and stuffed them back into the grocery bag. "Meet me outside?"

Christine took her bag from the floor and nodded him off.

She wasn't able to stuff her entire closet into her duffle bag, but at least she was able to pick out a few of her favorite pieces for the week until she went back to retrieve the rest of her stuff. Christine settled on a lilac cashmere sweater Meg had sent her for her birthday a year before and a pair of black leggings.

Erik smiled as she stepped out onto his terrace. He was already seated on the sofa with a stick in hand, a marshmallow hovering over the firepit's flame.

"You know," he said as she took her seat beside him, lifting the stick he had picked out for her, "I've never had a s'more before."

She looked at him in surprise. "Really? Not even at any parties when you were younger?"

He shrugged, rotating his stick. "My mom wasn't very fond of allowing me to attend any parties. Sugar was out of the question, too."

Christine rolled her eyes. "So you had one of _those _moms."

She expected him to laugh or say something in response, but Erik only kept his focus on his marshmallow roasting.

She pulled a marshmallow out of the bag on the small table between them, pushing the pointed end of her stick through it before she submerged it in the fire.

"You're going to burn it."

She laughed. "That's the point, silly."

She watched for a few seconds before pulling the marshmallow from the fire, blowing it out as it blackened and bubbled. She could feel him judging her as she ripped open a pack of graham crackers and chocolate, sandwiching and pulling the marshmallow off the stick.

"This," she said, proudly holding her s'more up for his viewing, "is how you make a proper s'more."

She held it out towards his lips, urging him. Erik lifted his toasted marshmallow from the fire, leaning forward and biting into her creation. She watched in amusement as the gooey center split and strung out. He licked his lips, smiling as she giggled.

"You missed a spot." She leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth where a strand of marshmallow still sat, transferring it to her lips. It was his turn to laugh as she wiped the food from her mouth.

They left the fire smoldering after an hour of several more s'mores and chocolate kisses. Christine gave up after her third s'more, already feeling the effects of a sugar-induced coma. She set her stick on the ground where her feet had been, stretching herself out so that she could comfortably lay her head in his lap.

Between the crackling of the fire and his stroking at her hair, she gave in to sleep up until he decided it was time to go back in, scooping her into his arms to carry her up the stairs to a room he'd set the rest of her stuff in. There was nothing more than a queen-sized bed and mirror on the opposing wall. The walls themselves were just as lifeless, the room rather cold.

"I know it's not much, but once you make it yours…"

_I'd much rather sleep with you for the night, _she wanted to interject as he set her on the bed.

"I'm sure it'll be great."

He smiled, brushing her hair away from her face before leaning down to kiss her forehead. She remembered Meg's words to her, the concern that she was afraid to make a move. She probably wouldn't have done anything the night before if she hadn't felt loosened by the wine. Even tonight when she kissed him it was only because it was safe to do so.

Christine bit her lip. _But what do I want?_

She caught him by the collar of his sweater, pulling his lips down to her own. She was wondering if he'd ever get over the surprise of her kisses, watching through lidded eyes as his eyes widened and drooped.

He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, leaving them bunched at her sides although most of his weight had relocated to the knee he had pressed into the mattress. She let go of his collar, taking his hands into her own, guiding them under the hem of her sweater. His hands were cold, sending a shiver up her spine.

But just as soon as she had his hands at her stomach, he'd pulled them back, breaking away with a gasp. He fell at the end of the bed by the bedpost, his pupils drawn in fear.

She sat up, frantically. "Is something wrong?"

He stood, backing slightly as if frightened by her. "I— I can't do this."

Christine cocked her head, confused. He had kissed her, laughed with her, held her. "You don't like me." She didn't mean to say it, but the thought slipped out of her mind and between her lips.

He was quick to dispel her suspicions. "No!" She jumped. "I do, Christine. I l-like you a lot." He bunched the front of his sweater in his fist. "I'm still trying to figure out how I can be the man I want to be for you."

It clicked: _He's never had sex, dummy._

"I just need time."

Christine wanted to pull him back into bed with her, tell him it was okay and that she had no problem with guiding him or just cuddling up for the night. But his body language told her otherwise. She nodded him off, signaling that she understood.

She settled into bed uneasily, replaying everything that had just occurred. She'd been so selfish in not understanding why he really didn't want her sleeping with him, but then she remembered: his mask. She didn't think much of anything about his physical appearance besides the way he dressed being _very_ appealing to her. She only really thought about the way he spoke, the things he said, the way he moved and carried himself like a gentleman. His face wouldn't have mattered to her. She just wanted his presence, his warmth, his voice whispering sweet things in her ear, his body between her legs…

After some shivering, the bed finally felt warm enough. She tried counting sheep, staring at the moon outside her window, and even playing some music from her _Nighttime _playlist, but nothing worked. She pulled out her Hitachi wand and plugged it into the outlet nearby. She hated the idea of doing this on her first night, but if she couldn't cease that tingling, she knew it would've been another hour or so before she fell asleep.

Christine closed her eyes and tried to remember his outfit, the hard line of his body. She tried imagining the night another way. He kissed her again and again, leading her up the stairs to her bedroom where he plopped her down on the mattress, trailing kisses down her chin, her throat, her breast. Desperately, he peeled off that sweater of his, and she followed. He kissed her again, down to the waistband of her leggings before slipping his hand underneath, finding her core slick.

"You're such a good girl, Christine."

She bit her lip and pressed herself into her wand as he ran his fingers over her, spreading the slickness of her heat.

"Don't resist it, sweetheart. You deserve to enjoy this."

Christine had to stifle a cry. She couldn't handle the sweet, tantalizing circles his fingers made.

"It's okay, Christine. It's okay."

She was gone in an instant, her toes digging into the quilt as pleasure shot through her and her mind went blank. "Thank you, Erik. Thank—"

She turned off her wand, opening her eyes to find her image staring right back across the room. The moonlight was casting just enough light for her to make herself out in the mirror: her hair a mess, her wand still pressed to her.

_Imagine what Father would think if he knew you were like this, _she thought with a shameful blush. _Jobless, dependent on some man you can't stop having sexual fantasies about._

She cleaned her wand off and wrapped its cord around it, tucking it back into her bag. She laid her head back down, ignoring the pesky voice in her head nagging her for thinking of herself and what she wanted.

A comment Erik had made before sprouted in her head. "You deserve to take care of yourself." She smiled. Christine knew he was talking more about getting her nails done and visiting the spa at the moment, but she knew he wouldn't have wanted her to feel so humiliated for needing to satisfy a human desire.

"There's nothing wrong with taking care of yourself."

Christine pulled the pillow on the other side of the bed, tucking it beneath the covers and laying it vertically beside her. Maybe Erik couldn't have been there, maybe she would have to pretend a cotton-stuffed case of fabric was him for the night, but she didn't care. Soon enough the pillow would be replaced by the man himself, and she wouldn't have to depend on some massage therapy toy for pleasure either.

_Soon enough._

* * *

**_A/N: I can't believe I left you guys hanging for 10+ days. The next chapter will come much sooner, promise!_**


	8. 8

"Where is he now?"

Christine was propped up in bed, her phone sandwiched between her shoulder and ear as she searched for a movie to watch on her computer. It had been a while since Meg had the time to join her for movie night. With Christine working nine to five and Meg's busy rehearsal schedule, there just hadn't seemed to be any time for their old traditions.

Christine sighed into the receiver. "Probably locked away in his office. As usual."

"Does he ever _not_ work?"

It was a question Christine had asked herself repeatedly for the past month she'd been living with him. It was a question she would've laughed at had she not been frustrated by his absence. Always working, hardly ever home. She was tired of the small talk, how he rushed their interactions and rejected her proposals for having dinner together, running off as he mumbled something about all the work he had to finish up.

"I wish."

"Christine."

There was something in Meg's voice that ripped her attention away from her computer screen. She was concerned for her friend.

"Maybe you should be watching a movie with him. I know we haven't had much time—"

"He wouldn't want to." The other end went silent. The agitation in Christine's voice was evident in every syllable she spoke.

"You don't know that."

"I tried already, Meg. Everything I do he just—" Christine felt her stomach curl in on itself as her throat caught on a sob. She shook her head. "He's far too busy to ever care for me. I'm just another _thing_ for him to have."

"That can't be true. After everything you've told me, it's obvious he cares about you."

"It was all a façade. I should've listened to you when you told me these men are bad news. They want nothing more than to possess. There's no love here."

"You're still there, Chris. The least you can do now is have some fun. Go on a shopping spree, drain his bank account…"

Christine burst into laughter. "You know I won't do that. Couldn't." Her mindless scrolling resumed. _Romance, comedy, horror…_ "I just want to be loved."

The words slipped from her mouth without thought. She missed their conversations over the phone. His sweet messages falsely convinced her that she had someone who truly cared for her. Promises of affection and undying love meant nothing to her now. It was all just part of his plan.

"He probably does care about you." She couldn't tell if Meg was convinced or not. "Maybe he just needs to be distracted, you know? Since he works all the time…"

Christine felt a jolt of an idea. It was a bad idea, just as impulsive as her last. She bit her lip in thought. _Distract him_…

"Christine? Are you still there?"

She blinked, shaking off her daze. "Yes, I'm still here. I—"

The creamy silk slip she'd purchased the week before caught her eye, hanging in her closet. She'd intended on wearing it to sleep at night, but whenever she put it on she felt a wave of guilt that she wasn't sharing it with him. Even if he didn't want to share a bed with her, not even a conversation, she still couldn't help but picture enjoying everything with him. Especially something that she wouldn't have been able to afford otherwise.

* * *

She found Erik just where she suspected him to be. He didn't dare to acknowledge her appearance in the doorway, not even as she approached him baring two glasses of wine. Despite all the anxiety in her heart, she was able to maintain a confident smile on her face.

"How's work?" She set his glass next to his monitor, flirtatiously seating herself on the edge of his desk. She felt her heart race as the short length of her slip lifted up her thigh. Still, he didn't notice.

"Busy." Even in one word, his agitation was apparent.

Her smile faltered a moment. Feeling discouraged, she drew in a deep breath of air, trying to steady herself. _Breathe, Christine_. _Breathe._

"You should take a break. You've—"

"I don't have time for breaks, Christine. I've got a lot to catch up on."

She felt her heart shatter. This isn't what she had in mind coming into his office. At least a glance, at least one ounce of eye contact, one tender word or acknowledgement in her direction. But nothing. He didn't care. That was it.

Christine stood before the tears could fall, and rushed towards the door. She couldn't lose her composure in front of him. She couldn't bear humiliating herself in front of him. She could, however, give him the satisfaction knowing he was successful at making her leave. Leave the room, pack her things, leave his life. He didn't want her. He probably never wanted her in the first place.

She was one step away from the door when an arm slipped around her waist, pulling her back. Another arm reached out and shut the door. Her heart leapt in her chest, racing faster than before. She shivered as a soft breath exhaled against her neck. For only a second, she remembered the drink in her hand, and was grateful to find it hadn't spilled.

The arm which had closed the door now moved down, smoothing the fabric of her slip at her side until the hand found the hem. "I need you to push me."

Her confusion was evident in her lack of action. She could hardly hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

His voice dipped into a low, soft whisper. "I need you to take control."

Realization struck her as a wave of arousal flooded her veins, pooling between her thighs. Without further hesitation, Christine spun around, grabbing his tie with her empty hand. She tried looking as determined and confident as possible, even with the tears drying at her chin.

She backed him up to his desk, setting her glass next to his. "Sit," she commanded, yanking his tie ever so slightly. Behind her, she set her glass beside his.

He did as she said, seating himself back in his chair. It was hard to read what emotion was occurring in those wonderful eyes of his as she knelt before him, forcing his legs apart.

For the first time, she wasn't so sure of herself. She wanted to please him, to repay him in some form for all that he'd provided for her, but she was still confused by his behavior. Had he been wanting her to act out all along? Even after she'd tried pushing him before? She was angry, too. Was this what she needed to do all along?

Her hands worked at his belt buckle. Maintaining eye contact as she struggled with all his restraints was rather difficult. Being the seductress she fantasized herself being was far from grasp, but she couldn't care about that now. The only thing occupying her mind was getting rid of that odd twinge of fear in his eyes. Or whatever it was that seemed to be concerning him.

Finally, after a bit of struggle and very little help on his end, she had him in her hands. She blushed at the thought of having imagined it before. It was much better than the image in her head. Steel pulsing in a case of warm velvet. Throbbing all for her. Just for her.

She watched as he closed his eyes, head tilting back in utter agony as he groaned at her ministrations. Her body was all aflame. Why had it taken so long to have him like this? Why wouldn't he allow her before?

"Fuck…" it was odd hearing him this way. All that sex and control he held in his voice now faltered at her touch.

She reached toward one of his hands which had only now been clenching at his knees, and led him to help hold her hair back. He paused for a moment as she gathered it all from her face and shoulders. Allowing him to hold her hair did as she hoped it would, encouraging him to take control of her pace a little more until his release which, to her disdain, he took into his own hand.

It felt like an eternity had passed until he finally met her gaze again, standing carefully. She rose up with him, smiling in spite of his slight discomfort, a result of his embarrassment. She wouldn't allow him to feel that way. She grabbed his tie once more as he tucked himself back, and pulled him down to her level so that she could place a kiss upon his lips.

"Thank you," she whispered. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "For allowing me to make you feel good. For once."

Her smile dimmed as he looked over her shoulder to his computer. She'd probably never succeed at dragging him away from work for one evening.

"I'm going to head back to bed."

She wanted to add "if you'd like to join me" to her statement, but she didn't want to set any more expectations of him. He'd probably exhausted himself enough for one night. And he obviously wanted to get back to work.

As soon as she turned for the door, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He wasn't done.

Christine bumped into the edge of his desk, and found herself being helped atop. Her mind raced with thoughts of excitement and disbelief, uncertainty and desire. Something had changed in him. There was no question he was pulsing for her as much as she was for him.

She accidentally knocked a stack of paper onto the floor as she laid down. She looked at him with pure, apologetic eyes. He tutted as he lifted her slip up her waist, resulting in a blush from her. And just like that, she felt vulnerable to him.

"Clumsy girl...can't even remember to put underwear on."

She felt her face flush red. It was a bold move walking in with very little on, but that was the point.

He parted her legs, kissing her inner thighs. She almost couldn't breathe. He was so close. She bucked her hips, begging. He chuckled and pulled her back towards the edge of the desk. This probably wasn't the most romantic place to be made love to, but her body was on fire, and she couldn't care less.

With his arms locked around her hips, his mouth went to work, torturing her with teasing kisses, purposefully avoiding her sweet spot.

"Please, please," she begged, squirming.

"Shh," he hushed. "I've done my reading on female anatomy. The more I prolong your release, the better you'll feel."

She was about to swear a threat, but before she could get anything out, his lips were on her again, sucking at that sweet, buzzing pearl. Her eyes had nearly rolled back in her skull. When he added his tongue, gently teasing her slit, she whimpered. When he added a finger, then another, she practically screamed. He was determined to make her final destination the most pleasurable one she'd ever experienced, and that's exactly what he did. It seemed as if her entire body was convulsing around those two fingers, gripping onto every second of peaked pleasure.

She always hated coming down from the high. But not this time. It always seemed before that her sexual experiences were hindered by loneliness. She'd imagine a faceless lover joining her in bed, tending to her needs, but when she opened her eyes there was never anyone there. There was never anyone to hold her and kiss her and tell her that she was loved. But now there was.

One smiling, masked face greeted her as she opened her eyes. Her body still gripped him as he removed his fingers, whispering something about how beautiful she was. Despite the hard discomfort of his desk, she just wanted to lay there for a while, but the chill of the room returned to her, and she was back.

Erik helped her up, greeting her with warm lips. She laughed, overwhelmed by a rush of happiness.

He slipped away from her all too soon, his eyes twinkling bright in realization. "I forgot!"

She tried keeping up with him as he rushed into his room. She'd never seen it before. It was rather bare in comparison to hers now. Dark wood, black velvet, heavy curtains draped over brass rods, one oversized dresser. There was no full-sized mirror, only a door leading to a closet. He opened the door, reaching in for a brief moment to retrieve something.

He turned to her, holding a flat white box tied with a red ribbon. He placed it in her hands. "I've been meaning to give it to you for some time now. I just…" his voice trailed off as she locked eyes with him again.

His eyes sank and all the excitement disappeared. He turned and sat at the edge of his bed. She joined him without question, setting the gift to the side.

"I want to share something with you." She could hear in his voice that whatever it was, it was important. He took both her hands in his, gaze not wandering. "I don't care what you decide to do after this. If you decide you want to leave, I will provide you with the means necessary."

She wanted to shake her head and insist she'd never do such a thing, especially not now, but she didn't know what was in store.

"I love you, Christine. I've never loved before in my life. And I trust you."

Her heart was full of love and pity. She hadn't felt loved in a while, but to not know it at all? She couldn't imagine.

"I cannot go on lying to myself or to you. Avoiding my reality has only made me lead a life of fear, and I am utterly exhausted." His hands slipped away from hers. "You don't have to say anything. You can simply leave and it won't break my heart. What you've provided for me tonight is enough to make a man happy for a millennia."

She couldn't help but not believe him. If she left, and what he said about loving her was true, he'd certainly be heartbroken. Could she even forgive herself?

His hand wedged itself underneath his mask. She felt her heart pounding and heard it in her ears. She wasn't afraid, it was the anticipation. She'd wondered for so long what could be so horrible that he felt the need to cover it and hide it from the world. She knew of others who embraced their imperfections. She couldn't imagine why he'd decide differently.

Her eyes skimmed over every detail. Puckered, uneven, scarred skin. His misshapen nose was fixed by the tight squeeze of his mask. She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He swallowed hard, eyes fixing hers, trying to read what she was thinking.

Her hand reached out without a second thought and brushed his cheek. He flinched and shook as if he were suddenly caught in a brisk wind. He touched her hand and allowed his eyes to slip shut. To feel…

She watched a bead of a tear slip from his eye and trail down his cheek. She kissed him. Not out of pity. Not out of love. She needed him to know how much she appreciated his bravery. Willing to share something he'd been made to hide his entire life meant everything to her.

He held onto her, hugged her tight against him. His hands shook as his fingers slipped into her hair, thumbs stroking at her scalp. He didn't want to pull away, didn't want to part from her, but he did.

She smiled at him, tears clouding her vision. She mouthed a "thank you" before he reached behind her to bring her gift back to her attention.

She laughed, sniffling as she took the box back into her lap. He watched her gently tug at the bow, opening the box and unfolding the tissue paper inside with careful precision.

Inside laid a pink silk robe. She lifted it from the box and watched as it unraveled. At the tail was a sea of embroidered flowers. Roses of all colors.

"I thought you might appreciate something nice to cover you when you get up in the morning. I've seen how you shiver."

Her heart was warmed by the smile on his lips. She laughed. "Perhaps a better solution would be to turn up the heat?" She cocked a teasing brow in his direction.

"Never," he whispered, a playful grin spreading across his face.

She hit his chest, laughing with him. He seemed more hesitant now to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes that he needed it, but that fear still lingered.

"Would you mind?"

She raised her brows in confusion. "Mind what?"

He swallowed. His voice lost its residual confidence. "Spending the night...here." His eyes glanced at the rest of his bed for only a moment.

She couldn't help but smile. If only he knew.

Christine disappeared to clean herself up. When she returned, he'd already changed into his pajamas and sat waiting for her in bed.

She hung her robe in his closet before slipping under the covers with him. Maybe she'd positioned pillow Erik on her other side, but at least this Erik—the real Erik—knew how to hold her at night.

She waited to hear his breathing slow before she fell asleep. He wasn't going anywhere. She wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry for the long-overdue update. I would love to make excuses, but I know I was truly the one holding myself back from posting again. Ahh, self-doubt...**_

_**Thanks to all of you who have reached out to me. It means a lot knowing people actually like to read what I write. I hope this reaches you guys.**_

_**I love you all. Happy late Valentine's Day.**_


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